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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26712565">Verses</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vashta_Nerada/pseuds/Vashta_Nerada'>Vashta_Nerada</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Howl Series - Diana Wynne Jones, Howl no Ugoku Shiro | Howl's Moving Castle, Howl's Moving Castle - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, F/M, Mild Smut, Post-Canon, as in somewhere after hmc, gfd, howl has a praise kink ofc, melancholic fluff?, very very very gentle almost vanilla</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:49:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,756</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26712565</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vashta_Nerada/pseuds/Vashta_Nerada</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Seventeen hundred words about autumn and peace.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sophie Hatter/Howl Pendragon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>128</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Verses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Is it ghibli-verse or book-verse? Who knows. Certainly not me.</p><p>Special thanks to delicatebluebirdruins for being my wonderfully patient beta!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Life was not aware of me and I wasn't aware of life</em><br/>
<em>Now its flames, they warm my heart</em><br/>
<em>They light the path towards her</em>
</p><p>Tamino <strong>—  </strong>Verses</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <strong>—</strong>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><p>Autumn is finally waltzing through Market Chipping. Her breathing covers the streets and fields with fog, her touch makes all the flowers wither. But she is beautiful. If Sophie was a heart-eating wizard, she would drop everything this second to chase after her copper-coloured locks made of dead leaves.</p><p>But Sophie is not a heart-eater, thank you very much, so she stays inside the castle. And everything is tremendously slow. The fire is slow, the raindrops are traveling down the window pane with noticeable reluctance, black shadows wander lazily in the dark corners of the room, and Sophie’s movements are even slower.  </p><p>And there are noises coming from somewhere in the ceiling; something is creaking and moaning upstairs, but this time it’s not Howl. Sophie can be fairly sure of that, since Howl and Michael’s silhouettes dissolved into the rain an hour ago. That’s why the ceiling can grumble all it likes, Sophie will swim through shadows downstairs, still and unfazed.</p><p>It is quite remarkable, really, she thinks, how her thoughts seem to always find a way to return back to Howl. Even when he’s sleeping beside her, even when she’s tired of him and desperately longing for the silent luxury of solitude, even when she’s thoroughly enraptured with rusted golds and changing of seasons. She thinks of him. Sometimes ferociously, sometimes fondly, sometimes, oh gods, lovingly, but his translucent eyes are smiling at the back of her head at all times. Which is rather annoying.</p><p>She notices the anger and irritation swirling in her stomach. The idea that love doesn’t make her any weaker or sillier is surprisingly hard to swallow. Besides, one should not underestimate the familiar comfort of crossness. The heat of fury is captivating, nearly magnetic. So, Sophie stares down the log in the hearth that is about to break in half and somewhat aggressively whispers a lot of nice things to it. Just because she doesn’t want to hurt herself, or anyone else for that matter, with her magic. Happened more than once before.</p><p>The feeling of peace is now rolling around her mind like a marble soothing and a bit chilly. Much like Howl’s fingers that caress her shoulder. She hasn’t noticed the door opening and closing, and she certainly didn’t hear his footsteps but here he is, all misty and shivering with cold.</p><p>There’s not much warmth around the hearth, the fire was slow and lazy, too, but Howl, soaked to the bone, still sits on the wooden floor beside the flickering flame and Sophie’s chair. </p><p>“I brought you my sister’s cake. She said, she was impressed with you singing Lisa Lân. And mind you, she is never impressed with anyone.”</p><p>There’s no reply. Mostly because Sophie is just too still and focused to speak. She stares at all the dust and smoke and sparkles flying up the chimney and for one frightful moment Howl’s heart, heavy and brown-red, is lying in the ashes. It cracks open just to turn into a lump of sweet-scented black sludge. Her own heart is starting to go faster, excruciatingly fast, and her breathing is getting shallow and-</p><p>But Howl is right here, in front of her. His eyes are not nonchalant mirrors, there’s life, fire, and the pain of a living breathing mortal in them. And when he rests his chin and hands on top of her knees, Sophie is found again.</p><p>“What parts of mine you like the most?” Howl inquires with maddening, cat-like smarm in the voice. Badly-disguised concern evident when he tries to catch her faraway gaze.</p><p>“You’re smart and stubborn,” Sophie answers in a lowered voice. She can’t bring herself to snap at him now. “And kind,” she adds after a short pause. Just a second later she realizes that it did sound dreadfully, embarrassingly sentimental.</p><p>It’s a game, though, so there’s no harm in it, Sophie assures herself. Her magic doesn’t work like that. Besides, he <em>is</em> smart, he <em>is</em> stubborn, and he<em> is</em> kind (and clingy, and vain, and...). It has nothing to do with her words.  </p><p>His ears are turning faintly red, and all of a sudden Sophie finds herself struggling with the most ridiculous, soul-crushing wave of tenderness.</p><p>“Pat my head,” he mutters, soft and unpolished. “Please.”</p><p>Howl’s hair is damp and slightly tingled, the two things he hates his hair to be, but the same honey-gold arrow flows down his spine, when Sophie touches him, and so he doesn’t mind looking moderately unkempt and loosen.</p><p>“Come closer,” Sophie demands.</p><p>And he does, leaning towards her thin lips. Floorboards whine under his weight. </p><p>“How obedient you’ve become, Howl,” Calcifer chuckles, with poisonous sweetness in his hissing voice.</p><p>Sophie doesn’t break the kiss, her palm holding Howl’s head in place. This is the type of silence that Calcifer abhors, so he hides under the log, turning himself into a spiteful and cranky twinkle. The light is almost completely gone. </p><p>The night is long, lazy and slow. In a way, it’s almost endless.</p><p>They barely speak a word to one another, while the bathtub is filling with hot water. Hazy mirrors are hanging on the walls, and all kinds of smells saturate the foggy room: dust, copper, soggy clothes on the floor, but mostly apple blossoms.</p><p>They still gaze at each other in awe and utter disbelief. The bathtub is not exactly big (Sophie would actually call it fairly narrow, if it hadn’t been for fear that the bathtub would shrink even more if she said so out loud), but they feel like they’re sitting on the opposite sides of the planet. The air is heavy with fragrant steam.</p><p>He kisses the tips of his fingers and blows on them gently. Without Calcifer, his magic is not as smooth and exquisite as it used to be, but somehow it suits him even better. There’s a moment of stormy waves between them, and then Sophie feels a weightless touch to the skin of her neck.</p><p>She straightens her leg against his.</p><p>“You can touch yourself now,” Sophie smiles, her eyes glittering.</p><p>For a short instant it seems like he’s floating away. But then, looking contemplatively at the bare skin of her arms and neck, Wizard Howl complies.</p><p>His palm picks up pace, moving swiftly. Way too swiftly, come to think about it.</p><p>“Don’t rush.”</p><p>He loosens his grip: just three fingers are left now. Howl is insufferably bad at pretending he doesn’t really care what’s going on under the water.</p><p>She doesn’t speak for a while, and he’s gaining speed once more, hesitantly at first, then more brazenly. His eyebrows begin to frown and his loose ponytail falling apart right into the water. Sophie’s watching the motion of his fist.</p><p>“I didn’t say you can go faster, my love.” Sophie reminds at last, with a distant echo of sternness in her voice.</p><p>Howl breathes out the longest, most woeful and dramatic sigh ever known to the world and for a second buries his face in his hands. Mostly to distract Sophie from the fact that he is flushed red.</p><p>“Good boy,” she coos, and dozens of fallen stars keep dancing in her eyes. “Do you want me to help you?”</p><p>“Yes. Fuck yes.”</p><p>There’s quite a flood on the floor after Howl’s done moving. His back pressed against Sophie’s breasts, the head resting on her shoulder.</p><p>She kisses his ear, idly fondles his neck and whispers with nearly absurd fascination: “You’re doing a beautiful job,” when he's moving his hand and breathes out his first quivering moan.</p><p>"Go faster now."</p><p>"How fast?" Howl murmurs.</p><p>"I'll tell you."</p><p>The sounds vibrate against her chest and Sophie realises how much her cheeks glow. Howl catches her fingers with his mouth and a small eternity is born. It exists, only for a few seconds.</p><p>“Stop,” says Sophie.</p><p>Howl does not obey this time. She isn’t even sure that he heard anything she said, the splashes of water are rather noisy, after all.</p><p>“I said stop,” she repeats firmly, capturing Howl’s wrist in the middle of the movement.</p><p>His hips are still thrusting, and the waves in the bathtub are crashing against their chests. The air swells with foiled moans and frustrated whimpers.</p><p>In the moments like this Howl is hauntingly, achingly human, Sophie admits to herself, and she really is head over heels for him. There’s not much room for manoeuvring, at this point it’s just a fact.</p><p>Her hand sinks under the water and begins to move, unhurriedly and steady, then faster. It has something to do with lightning strikes and blackness and nonexistence. It’s hard to explain with words, but Death is a much more intimate companion to Sophie than to Howl, so she’s trying to get her point across this way. Hoping, that he would catch glimpses of humanity’s primal terror and bliss in all its pristine timelessness.</p><p>“I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m so gonna die,” he repeats breathlessly and quite melodramatically, yet utterly bewitched.</p><p>Because he does understand. Howl’s green eyes are wide open as he jerks and gasps, licking and biting her fingers. There’s a glossy, milky-white string on the surface of the water now and transparent trail of saliva on his chin.</p><p>He does not die, of course.</p><p>Sophie is kissing his shoulder, temple, eyelashes, jawline and wine-colored lips curved into a vague smile.</p><p>“Tell me, what’s on your mind, Howell.”</p><p>“I’m yours,” he replies, panting, joyous bewilderment written all over his noble face. He takes Sophie’s hand and places it onto his chest. “Can you believe it? I’m all yours.”</p><p>It’s not something they say to each other when there are people around. </p><p>“Will you let me taste you?” Howl asks under his breath, planting mindless kisses on her palm and hand. His stomach and thighs are still trembling with fading spasms.</p><p>He was good as gold for this whole evening, so Sophie can’t really deny him his wish.</p><p>“You were so good, my love,” she admits, and he gleams at the praise, like a brand-new coin in the sunshine.</p><p> </p><p>They’re falling asleep by the dim morning light. Outside the window, Wales is dusky and sullen as ever, and yet slightly solemn, too.  </p><p>Howl smells like apple blossoms and grass after the rain. Her legs are tangled with his, and Sophie’s lips can clearly sense the serene cadence of his heartbeat on his neck.</p><p> </p>
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